[Ultimate Civilization] No Ancient Can Be Repeated

Author: JEFFI CHAO HUI WU

Time: 2025-7-28 Monday, 4:29 PM

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[Extreme Civilization] No Ancient Can Be Repeated

I am often misunderstood as "nostalgic," as if all my efforts are merely to reclaim some lost traditions. But in fact, my deepest fear has never been that "we are too far from tradition," but rather: that one day in the future, humanity will have no past to return to.

This is not alarmism, but an empirical judgment I have made over thirty years from the four dimensions of body, tools, structure, and civilization. We are experiencing a strange era—technology is advancing rapidly, while civilization is being uprooted at an astonishing speed.

Sanxingdui: A Civilization Without Writing

A familiar example: Sanxingdui. It was an ancient civilization that was highly developed yet lacked written language, leaving us with enormous bronze masks, gold scepters, and altars, but not a single piece of paper or a written document. Archaeologists have spent decades researching it, yet they still cannot fully understand their beliefs, structure, and craftsmanship.

I am wondering, if humans a thousand years from now discover the "remnants" of our era—perhaps hard drives, databases, cloud debris, fragmented short videos, Emoji conversations, machine-translated texts... will they, like us facing the Sanxingdui, be unable to interpret them and can only rely on speculation?

Even more terrifying is: if this future humanity no longer understands "structured writing," "logical argumentation," "skill practice," and "bodily experience," will they look at the three hundred articles I left behind and exclaim: this is the only remaining "classical civilization" that can still be understood?

The wisdom of Excel, combating the emptiness of ERP

I used the simplest tool—Excel 97—to build an intelligent logistics system that can run for over ten years and manage tens of thousands of containers. This is not about showing off skills, but about preserving the "highest density of intelligence" with "the lowest complexity."

Back then, I worked in frontline positions at TNT, DHL, UPS, FedEx, and Exel Logistics, breaking down and reorganizing customs clearance, scheduling, cost calculation, and route planning, allowing it to automatically compute, judge, and generate decisions on an ordinary computer. It managed a fleet of 5,000 vehicles, connecting agents from multiple countries and maintaining stable cooperation for over ten years.

Today, even startups are busy buying AI modules and building ERP black boxes, yet they cannot replicate even half of the logic of my system. It’s not that they lack technology, but rather that they lack structure. What’s missing is not the tools, but the thinking itself.

Once everyone forgets the ability to "design systems from scratch," even if they are given a supercomputer, they will no longer be able to generate truly intelligent models. This is the fracture of the "tool dimension"—the more advanced the tools become, the more wisdom is lost.

The body is the earliest broken interface of civilization.

I practice stance training and Tai Chi not to pursue "tradition," but to preserve a kind of "body cognition protocol."

When I stand on one foot with my eyes closed for 23 minutes, my foot automatically finds balance, a warm sensation arises in my dantian, and the airflow travels along my spine. I know: this is the "body wisdom program" left by our ancestors through hundreds of years of physical verification. It cannot be conveyed in words; it must be empirically proven.

When I stand by the seaside in a short-sleeve shirt at 6 degrees in winter, with sweat slowly trickling down my back, what I feel is not "cold resistance," but rather my body's system automatically adjusting to the temperature difference. This ability is structural and must be awakened through thousands of breaths, standing, exerting force, and relaxing.

Today, children find it difficult to sit still for even 10 minutes, while adults turn to their phones for comfort when they feel tired. The sense of bodily structure, the sense of balance, and the internal circuits are being completely erased.

Future archaeologists may be able to replicate the programs I wrote, but they will never be able to reproduce data like "the temperature difference in the body after standing still for 30 minutes." Because no one is willing to use their physical body to verify it.

AI cannot carry the original meaning of "ancient."

Artificial intelligence cannot revive traditional culture; it can only simulate contemporary people's understanding of the ancient. If you ask it to explain "dantian," it gives you Wikipedia. If you ask it to elaborate on "listening to energy," it quotes kung fu movies. The "ancient" in AI has long been filtered, compressed, and simplified by modern contexts, turning into a "visualized version of civilization." This is no different from the way the statues from Sanxingdui have been moved into museums as decorative items.

I once wrote: "In the future, when human civilization faces a discontinuity, my articles may become the only systematic samples of thought available for interpretation."

Many people think I am boasting, but this is precisely my fear. Because I see—civilization does not die from disaster, but from forgetting. My existence is one of the last backups of civilization. I am not a master; I have simply spent thirty years persisting in one thing: using this body of mine, this bit of logic, and this bit of writing to preserve a civilizational structure that has not yet broken apart in this era.

My thirty years are thirty years of backup.

I have created over three hundred articles, each a work with a complete logical chain; the stance training I practice is not for show, but is a genuine measurement of body temperature and energy flow; the logistics system I built does not rely on any external AI modules, yet it outperforms investments of millions in software; the website and forum I independently operate have been permanently archived by the National Library of Australia, systematically documenting twenty years of Chinese literature, culture, and forum records.

I once joked that I am a "retro enthusiast," but now, I want to redefine it: I am not retro; I am preventing a future where there is "nothing old to revive."

Please remember this word, like remembering a certain endangered species. "No ancient can be restored" is not an emotion, but a judgment.

It means: when culture becomes performance, tradition becomes IP, and history becomes algorithmic material; when the body no longer carries wisdom, words no longer express truth, and logic no longer connects to reality; our children will be unable to imagine "what is ancient," let alone think about "reviving" it. And in that world, if there is still one person who can understand the system I left behind, he will not be a retrogressor, but a restarter. Because he finally realizes: the most terrifying thing is not the inability to revive the past, but the absence of the past to revive.

Source: http://www.australianwinner.com/AuWinner/viewtopic.php?t=697061